TENEBROUS RATTLETRAP
The world of Old Tenebrous Rattletrap
Is a tale of loneliness and woe,
A story of lowness, dismal dismay
And of menacing, meandering melancholy.
Sat in the place he sits
At the end of yet another dismal day,
With unsmiling, unseeing and uncaring eyes
At the world's rumbustious, repugnant folly.
Every night in this worn leather seat
At the inn of quintessentially quiet parlour,
Stirring the steaming, dented silver bowl
He sips at his gruel deep in thought.
Another year is nearly at a close
He has little time for people's podsnappery,
And other puerile pifflings notwithstanding
Where his hard labours amount to nought.
The icy rime reaches crusted window panes
And the river fog curls his arms on the quay,
He nudged, niggled and nurdled through
Streets of fancy and fevered Christmas rush.
And although good cheer is all around
Dusty clock still posts it's mournful chime,
And hollow movement of ghostly hand
Calls silently in the rooms gloomy hush.
The noise of carousing and merrymaking
From the jostling and jocular, singular snug Did Rattletrap tut, as the frippery unhindered
Did permeate, with a grinding grisly appeal.
One more sip, with a cursory reproach
For the metallic click of door latch
There stood a large dark coated gentleman
Whose face, hidden in shadow, unrevealed.
No words were spoken, not a drink taken
And Rattletrap did stare so, as the man sat,
No utterance, urgency and an unhealthy air
Without breath or any hearty sounds of life.
The stranger removed his hat, and scarf
Revealing a face of a workhouse wretch
His eyes were hollow and deathly cold
His colour grey, full of misery and strife.
The room was bathed in an unworldly glow
Tenebrous Rattletrap dropped his spoon
His voice wrenched from scrawny throat
"What do you want of me" he cried.
The other just sat and raised a wizened arm
Pointing to the revelry beyond the door,
And in a deep and haunting voice did speak
"I never had a Christmas, upto the day that I died"
As Tenebrous stared in horror and dread
The phantom silently stood once again,
Then floated toward the snug room door
Legs thin, dangled beneath him he spoke.
The wooden portal creaked and groaned
And a warmth flooded the dusty room,
Voices and music, a roaring, crackling fire
Rattletrap felt his misery begin to choke.
He looked upon the revelry and hearty cheer
And his lined, thin mouth started a quiver,
Hornpipes and reels, quadrilles singular
Ladies all bustle and lace and daring eye.
The men jostling, posturing in bold acclaim
Some fleet of foot and flashing manner so,
Dowagers, well upholstered and dowdy
With envy, looks as cold as the snow silently drifting from the sky.
Rattletrap was ushered into the melee
Wassail thrust upon his softening lips,
Laughter as with glazing eye and demeanour
He tripped into a faltering and flimsy jig.
The chagrin increased in intensity
Fiddles scraped and he was swept away
With ladies all powder and scented sweet
He danced, drank and shared dates and fig.
The years fell from once vacant visage
Frozen, forlorn and faltering frown,
Suddenly like a slate wiped clean away
His heart surged with sugary sweetness.
Seeking stolen kisses under the mistletoe
Tenebrous was a wonderful, winter king,
Cobwebs swept from his once dungeon heart
As unique as could be in uniqueness.
The men, of comfortable disposition
With glowing nose to match sturdy boot,
Did toast this fine, felicitous, fitting fellow
With twinkling glasses.of negus and Pineapple rum.
The one named Pickwick raised his pot and did espouse
"For Christmas cheer and merriment
Good friends I bid this salute to all
And prosperity in the new year to come."
All did cheer and back slap heartily
And the musicians roistered a galop,
With twirls, twinkle toes and tiaras
Sparkling, invigorating candlelit gems.
Elsewhere the parlour held its silence
With the ghosts of a long time past,
The glow returned to the cold ashen hearth
Champagne flutes again lifted from stems.
For the cloaken man had again returned
With others who had died in poverty,
They watched in silence as the living sang
Cold eyes, now aflame with invigorating glory.
Tenebrous saw the silent throng gathered
And he raised a hand to the cloaken man,
He'd realised that Christmas is for all to cherish
And for peace and happiness to be the recurring story.
Phil Hall December 2018
Copyright:Philthepoet61.blogspot.com Picture: Cruikshank (No Claim)
